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Poet of the Week: Christina Springer

springer, christina
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Them Ghosts

them ghosts gonna
respect no privacy or tenderness
hobble they tires like runaways
pick out suspension busting potholes
cut strings like ham
sing the stillborn song holler down

holy hell          them ghosts gonna
sprinkle glass in they food
rub fingernails on they larynx
bite out they tongues
burn up they dinner in they belly
break they fingers suck marrow
out they phalanges ‘n metatarsals
put brambles on they eyeballs

suffocate they       them ghosts gonna
be in the shower, in the mirror steam
playing thorns on they eardrums
yank they arm hairs out
salt paper cuts
brand they tastebuds
rub on they like they was

rub on          them ghosts gonna
ride the wails of they skinned knee children
watch they young sold far
push say please up they nose to they brain
chop down they money tree
confetti they money times
five generations        them ghosts

never forget

 

Christina Springer’s Poets Tour Profile